


Saturnalia

by coffeehousehaunt



Series: Lextavia AU Drabble Cycle [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A couple double drabbles, Alternate Universe - Noir, Anonymous Sex, Assassination Attempt(s), Bad Decisions, Community: femslash100, Drabble Cycle: AU, Drabble Sequence, F/F, Masquerade Ball, Organized Crime, almost, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6523576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re Octavia Blake. Transplant from a trailer park at the ass-end of Arkadia. Fresh blood in town. You came here following your brother and found Bellamy… <i>entangled</i> with local politics. So you tried to make it on your own. A clean start.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this one grew a plot. No pun intended.

“Some party.” 

Octavia spins. Black feathers and diamonds. Original. 

She turns away with a shrug. “Seen better.” 

The other lady _hmm_ ’s somewhere between amusement and dismissal. Octavia feels her move closer. “Been in the Capitol long?” 

“Long enough. I thought personal questions weren’t allowed at this kinda party?” 

She shrugs, liquid movement of her slender shoulders, lips quirking below her half-mask. “Can’t blame a girl for making small talk. Do you dance? Or are you this boring all the time?” 

She really should learn to pick her battles, Octavia thinks as the woman leads her out onto the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double drabble; 200 words.

Unbreakable. 

Octavia doesn’t know her name, or her tax bracket, or even what she looks like—but the woman under her hands is unbreakable. 

She shouldn’t; who knows who’s under that mask? All Octavia knows is the liquid shift of slender muscles, warm breath against her neck. 

Isn’t that the point of these dances, though? Put on a mask and let out all those appetites that get you killed anywhere else. 

Just as many people use these dances to put a hitman in a mask. The success of parties like this is judged by the body count; who makes it through the night alive. The players in this city will be judged by who’s too cowardly to show their “face”. 

Try as she might, questions of intent, identity—all fade into the smell of her perfume, the heat of her skin. It’s all Octavia can do to not close those last centimeters between her lips and the woman’s collarbone, her neck. She shouldn’t; because of the mask. 

But when the woman tugs her further--off the dance floor, through a door--she goes, because of the mask; even without it, who is she, anyways? 

She’s no one, in this city.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 150 words. I know, I know. This one didn't cooperate.

The lights are hot, but muffled; outside the circle of them, there’s just murmuring shadows. 

Octavia catches flashes of the diamond on the woman’s mask, bright under the lights, fading into the dark like stars. She follows. 

Abruptly, the woman stops, and Octavia runs into her. There’s a shuffle of hands on her chest, sides, and then the press of lips, warm. Oh. 

Octavia’s hands find her waist, slide around to her back; one rises, tracing the edge of the mask. 

They float like that, for a moment, until they find the wall, and then there’s just the dark and the scent of perfume. Octavia drags her lips over the pulse in other woman’s neck; drowns herself in it. 

She thinks it’s another dazzle, stars inside her eyelids, but her eyes open further and it’s still there, and not diamond. 

The thin flash of steel edge on a blackened blade.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 words.

Octavia’s moving before she can think, one hand slapping down, moving to block with her body. Her hand forces the blade down, but not before she hears a gasp from beside her. 

She can’t see the attacker’s face, but she can see enough of a silhouette to throw her elbow in it. They stumble back. Octavia grabs the wrist holding the knife and knees them hard about where a groin should be. The hand releases. 

An elbow to the back of the head finishes them. Octavia turns. “Are you alright?” 

“I—I think so.” 

Octavia grabs her hand. “Come on.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 200 words.

In an alley in the rain two blocks from the hall, the girl drops Octavia’s hand. At some point, that mask came off; her hair falls half-undone around her face, rain-wild. 

Octavia takes her in—can’t help it. She’s pretty—hell, _beautiful_ ; high cheekbones at an angle that makes her face suited for seriousness, but soft enough that she looks a little out of place in the grime of Polis. 

And of course she remembers those lips. 

“I feel like I should apologize.” Her voice seems softer out here; lost in the brick and tin. 

Octavia shrugs. “We came for the entertainment, right?” 

The girl laughs, but it’s halfhearted. 

Octavia straightens herself; just because she threw a couple punches doesn’t mean she wants to get shanked if they try again. “You good?” This is none of her business. 

“Yeah.” She’s staring back towards the hall, though, hands clenched into fists. 

_None of my business._ “You got a place to crash?” Goddamn it. 

“Yeah. But I should probably make myself scarce.” 

“You can crash at my place.” One eyebrow rises. “Just for tonight.” 

“That’s noble of you.” A citizen of Polis, after all. 

“Try not to hold it against me, yeah?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sexing. 100 words. 
> 
> Rated M, but on the light end; sexing is mostly implied.

Those lips are even softer than Octavia remembers, backed up against the counter at her place. Even warmer, in her cold apartment with the half-burnt lights and bare floors. Fingers dragging like embers. 

“You don’t owe me.” 

“Please. I’d already decided I wanted this.” Those green eyes burn into hers, as surprising and sure as her voice. Octavia doesn’t know what to make of her; that softness gives way to savvy, gives way to grit, gives way to—

This. 

“What’s your name, at least?” Octavia breathes, lips ghosting against hers, sinking under. 

“Lexa.” Those eyes flare, sharp and enigmatic. 

_Lexa._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 250 words. Sorry. This is where it got out of hand.

Her bed’s always cold in the morning, but usually Octavia hears them slip out. She looks around to see if Lexa’s already gone—

“Too much to hope that knife’s for foreplay?” 

“Habit. And that’s a bad idea.” Lexa nods in the direction of Octavia’s hand, under the pillow, creeping towards the knife hidden at the head of the bed. 

Octavia sighs and sinks down. “What d’you want?” 

Lexa’s studying the knife in her hands, turning it over and over. “You did well last night. I could use someone like you.” She sets the point of the knife in the countertop and rests her hand on the butt of it, looking at Octavia consideringly. 

“Use—“ Octavia’s mouth turns metallic. “Who the hell are you?” 

“Someone who knows your services aren’t for sale.” 

_Damn right_ , she almost replies, but it never makes it out, because something surfaces under the force of that green gaze, something from long conversations with Bellamy before the city ate him up. 

“You’re the Commander.” 

The Commander quirks one eyebrow. “And you’re Octavia Blake. Transplant from a trailer park at the ass-end of Arkadia. Fresh blood in town. You came here following your brother and found Bellamy… _entangled_ with local politics. So you tried to make it on your own. A clean start.” 

“What do you want?” Octavia grinds out. 

The Commander sighs. Leans back against the desk, turning her knife with those long fingers. After a long moment, she looks back at Octavia. “I need your help."


End file.
